While The Night Is Young
by gothgirlstrikesagain
Summary: 'She already is too independent, if anything, she needs a good night out which is my area of expertise.' Having a guardian angel isn't always a good thing, especially if it is Balthazar. However Emilie has her own plans, and soon finds clues to her mother's secretive life. What she doesn't know, is her whole family has life threatening secrets, but they are about to be revealed...
1. This Is The Story Of

**Must...stop...new...IDEAS!**

**Hi people, here we are with another supernatural story, hope you enjoy this. Hopefully i've done the characters right, i don't think i've written Balthazar before so this should be interesting. So i now have a crush on Misha Collins and Sebastian Roche...too many hot guys in one show, just to powerful... but how can you resist these men.**

**Question: Who is you're favourite angel from Supernatural?**

**DISCLAIMER: I DON NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTER EXCEPT MY OC'S ALL THE REST BELONG TO SUPERNATURAL OR THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS.**

**With that done, on with the chapter...**

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The classical music of Beethoven lingered around the art gallery, bouncing off the spotless white walls that presented the different artworks. The chatter of the rich was distinctly heard in every corner, bothering many of the silent observers. The art gallery was extremely packed, even more than usual, making any movement difficult. Waiters and waitresses strolled around the maze of cheap laughter, trays of champagne that were barley safe to carry balanced on their hands. Every half an hour, the sound of glass shattering would echo and trails of yellow liquid would slither through people's shoes, another waiter was always at hand to clean the disastrous mess. Many of the artworks were strange shapes, triangles, squares, oblongs, these being a favourite. Some could be plain things, such as one splatter of paint along a canvas, such strange taste people have towards art.

The people themselves were just as colourful and bright, orange dresses with gigantic yellow flowers that hide the wearers faces. Some checked tuxedos, these being colours such as purple or worse, yellow. Fashion admittedly changes all the time, but sometimes, certain fashions are best left forgotten. All of these people earn millions of dollars a year; they live in big mansions, leaving the rest to beg at their knees. They have power. Amongst this power, the king laughs and sips his champagne with the flock. Sometimes catching a glance of his princess, she stares at the less loud paintings near the back of the gallery. The king excuses himself to join his less social daughter. He stands proudly behind her; she doesn't look at him, her gaze intrigued on the painting in front of her.

'Darling, why don't you join the rest of us? I'm sure there are plenty of…men you're age that would share your interest in art.' He uses the term 'men' lightly, still seeing his daughter as a little girl, just as every overprotective father does. The daughter doesn't move, her plain black dress an oddity amongst the vibrant colours around the room.

'Those _men_ are nothing more than boys trying to act like adults. I'm fine by myself, I don't need to socialise with anyone as I'm more interest in the artworks.' Her matter-of-fact tone reminding the king of his long dead wife, he sighs, knowing that he will not win this battle.

'Emilie…One day you'll own all this. When I'm dead, I want to know my money will be safe and used wisely, I want to know there will be someone to look after my daughter.' The daughter turns to face her father, flames bellowing in her hazel eyes. He is taken aback by his daughter's powerful wrath, no longer seeing the little girl, but a strong-willed woman.

'I don't need a man to look after me; I'm more independent than you give me credit for. Who says I'll own this, more likely you'll give it to Chase!' At that moment, the father shushes his daughter, feeling anger as she speaks out of hand towards his soon-to-be wife.

'Do not talk about your step-mother like that, she cares for you, and wants what's best for you.' The anger shows in his tone, but it is nothing compared to his daughter's, who again speaks out of line.

'She doesn't give a damn about me, or you, she's just after your money. She's a gold digger and you're too blind to see it!' She shouts back, only to have her father drag her by the shoulder to a back room to cool down. He throws her arm away, pushing her to the centre of the darkened room. He pointed a scolding finger at her, a face red with rage.

'You can come out once you've learnt to respect the people around you. I expected better from you Emilie, you bring shame to the family's name… and your mother's.' He growls before slamming the door shut, just as he turns to face his audience, a fake smile is plastered onto his face. He strolls towards his powerful friends, only to bump into a daydreaming shoulder. The sharp pain revolves around his own shoulder before subsiding; he doesn't apologize and continues on his way.

'I believe you owe me an apology.' A British voice speaks behind him. He gulps down a sharp taunt, and turns to the owner of the voice.

'On the contrary, I think it is _you_ that owes _me_ an apology. After all, it wasn't me who wasn't looking where I was going. It was a _pleasure_ talking to you sir, but I must re-join my friends, Good day.' He speeds off in an authoritive manner, ignoring the British man and feeling rather smug with his quickness to retaught. Before long, he is laughing with his obnoxious 'friends' again, forgetting about his shameful daughter.

Emilie paces the length of the back room, the anger still boiling in her chest. Hateful thoughts fill her mind as the fight with her father poisons her emotions.

_Why doesn't he die already? He doesn't deserve one penny… I hate him!_

Her head screams with even more hateful words as the night draws on.

* * *

After an hour of recuperation, Emilie breathes deeply before entering the main room again, only to see that most of the occupants have left. She concludes her father was also part of the group that left and weaves around the white walls to stare at the paintings. Only two waiters and five observers are left in the gallery, the waiters seem weary from the flamboyant evening. Emilie stares at the Rolex wrapped around her pale wrist, it reads eleven thirty, and then she places it at her side again. After watching an observer yawn, she decides it is about time to close the gallery. Walking purposely over to one of the more tired-looking waiters, (the clacking of her heels just as annoying as wearing the damn high heels) he instantly stands to attention once she is in front of him.

'John, could you please inform the last few stragglers that we will be closing in ten minutes?' John nods at the stern Emilie with a small smile on his face.

'Of course Miss Atkins, do you want me to lock up as well?'

'No thank you, I'm sure I'll be able to do it on my own.'

'I never said you couldn't Miss.' He walks over to the stragglers and replays the message, most leave straight away or a few minutes after. Soon enough there just three people left, these being the two waiters and the last observer. The waiters are wearing their jackets and begin to wait for a conformation to leave; Emilie does this with a small nod. The waiters return the gesture with a quick goodbye and begin their leave.

Emilie starts to lose her patience, as the man doesn't seem to be leaving, she doesn't think he is a thief, just an ignorant friend of her father's. While waiting for this last man to leave, Emilie has already grabbed her, black trench coat and wrapped it over her cold skin. She has locked the back of the gallery and only has to turn the ceilings ray like lights off. Now, Emilie is passed annoyance and onto anger, walking straight up to the oblivious man. She is just about to speak when he interrupts her, catching her completely off-guard.

'This is Beethoven's 'ode to joy' is it not? Such an inspiring piece of music, such a shame it was so bloody long.' The British accent also caught her off-guard, not many British came to Portland, much less to art gallery. Emilie began to feel self-conscious, the awkward air smelling thick in her nostrils.

'I wouldn't know I've never been a fan of classical music.' He tsked at her reply, taking a sip of his champagne in an almost elegant way. Once he had finished drinking, he studied the thin glass, the light glinting off the shiny surface.

'Children these days, their taste in music has faltered dramatically.' She is more intrigued about this stranger, forgetting why she was meant to tell him to leave. His blonde hair messy yet clean, his clothes plain but noticeable in a crowd. In a way, he looks elegant, by the way, he stands and how he refuses to turn his head to face her. Emilie snaps out of her trance, the sternness in her voice once more.

'I'm twenty-four, _not_ a teenage, and I have a good taste in music thank you very much.' He takes another sip of his champagne, oblivious to the tone in her voice.

'I didn't realize you had anything to thank me for, but I will take it all the same. Was there a reason that you came to harass me?' He finally faces her, and she is forced to gasp silently. His cyan eyes glow beautifully and complement his almost tan skin, there are smile marks above his lips but there is only a smug smirk on his face. After regaining her composure, Emilie straightens her back in a defiance to be attracted to the stranger.

'Yes, I did, I'm asking you to leave.'

'Then I refuse.'

'That wasn't a question.'

'Well it clearly was, isn't asking meaning that you're asking a question?' His sarcastic tone makes Emilie's ears bleed, infuriating her with a smug smirk. 'The night is still young, why would you want to close so early?' He makes many hand gestures as he talks, as if he is in a performance. Emilie can't help but be speechless whenever he makes a snide comeback, not used to this treatment, it is out of her comfort zone.

'It's half twelve, the night _isn't_ young at all.'

'Well, it is for me. I guess being a daddy's girl, means you have strict bedtimes.' There's mocking in his voice, but it's not towards her, but towards her father.

'You've met my father?'

'Sort of, I bumped into him on my look around the gallery. A posh git I might add, but you already know about that don't you. Are any of these your work? You seem to be the artistic type.' Emilie finds herself staring into his cyan eyes, pools of childish playfulness.

'This one is mine, but it isn't my favourite, I like the more plain type.' She motions to the painting that he had been looking at earlier. The painting is a Picasso type illustration of an angel, complicated shapes making you turn your head upside down in a confusion to see what it is. The angel, stands proudly above a collation of begging people, these people scrambling over one another to get their prayers heard. The feathery wings stand out the most in the painting, almost life like with the detailed white and darker grey areas. The stranger turns back to the painting, observing it more closely, still sipping the champagne in his hand. Emilie feels inquisitive towards his opinion of her painting, not really hearing another opinion other than her father's. He stands straight again, shaking his head slightly for emphasise.

'I personally prefer 'loud' paintings, describe my personality better. This is some good artwork; I would like to see more of your work if this isn't your favourite.' Emilie hides her excitement at this opinion, even if a cocky stranger gave it.

'I don't like it because, I believe it doesn't do angels justice. I have always seen angels as God's warriors, fighting whatever evil he wishes rid of, not all women in see-through dresses granting people whatever wishes they desire.' She would have gone on if he hadn't turned to face her again, admiration sparking in his eyes for a second, only to return to their cyan state.

'Interesting belief, better than most teenager's these days. If that is how you feel, why didn't you paint it _your_ way?' There is genuine questioning in his voice, so much, so that Emilie can't help herself from replying.

'I didn't paint it my way, because my father would disagree with my belief… The way he always does to anything I do. I'm not necessarily a Christian, but I do believe that there is some good to the massive amount of evil in this world.' Her anger subsides for the first time when talking about her father, the words hanging in her brain now said; she feels more like herself again. The stranger just listens, sipping his drink every so often. It has been a very long time since someone was actually worth talking to, in his mind anyway, so far, she hasn't demanded anything from him. The exit of the gallery doesn't count, just a habit that her obnoxious father had planted in her head, another being to never talk to strangers, even more so, strangers that were men.

'I'm not one for art myself, painting that is, but I know that art comes from the heart, and if it doesn't, your just lying to yourself.' He watches a small smile play across her lips; he joins in this smile briefly before clearing his throat. There is a minute of silence as he finishes the champagne, Emilie avoiding his eyes as much as possible, he chuckles at this, finding it amusing to see this fiery human uncomfortable. He hands the empty glass to her; she takes it without question, but doubles back once she realizes that she had taken it. Before she can protest, the stranger vanishes in front of her, this makes her lungs stop working for a second. After she remembers how to breathe, she curses at her imagination, believing she made this stranger up. The only trace of this stranger is the empty glass coiled in her fingers. Shaking her head, she storms into the back room, placing the glass amongst the other empty glasses.

The air feels colder here, so much that Emilie can see her crystalized breath. She can sense someone is there, like a stalker in the night. Fear creeps around her skin, Goosebumps appearing on her arms. The steady clattered of high heels draw towards her, they sound as if the wearer is stumbling at every step. She can't move, feeling like a rabbit caught in the headlights. The person draws ever closer, now only a few metres away, loud gasp or wheezes stain Emilie's ears. The cold breath of this person hits her right ear, the wheezing loud and clear. Emilie can't make a sound, not even a muffled cry as the person begins to whisper in her ear.

_'Emilie…Emilie…It's your… time.'_

The slamming of the art Gallery's heavy doors is enough to make the stranger leave. Soon the air is warm again, but Emilie shivers against an imaginary coldness. With the person gone, Emilie can move again, and heads straight into the main room. She is met with blood slithering on the floor, a clumped body lying in the middle of the room. Her stomach flips at the sight and smell of this scene, but quickly she is as the side of the victim. Turning them over slowly, she recognizes the battered face looking at her.

'Uncle Edgar, what happened, who did this to you?' Hysteria scratches her vocal chords as the blood seeps onto her hands and coat, his chest is slashed like an animal has bitten him. His face is smothered in sweat, but a few salty tears escape his brown eyes. He grunts as he pulls something from inside his pants pocket, the mystery object is wrapped in a yellowing cloth, he pushes the object into Emilie's hand. His eyes look straight into hers; the colour fading as his life quickly deteriorates.

'Your mother wanted you to have this…when you were old enough to understand.' Tears spill from Emilie's eyes as her uncle's German accent is strained.

'Understand what?'

'Emilie, your mother was… she was a hunter. Not an animal hunter, but a spirit hunter…and defiantly not one to be messed with. In that cloth is all you need to continue her work, hunting is in your blood girl. Your mother's side of the family… have been hunters for generations.' His voice is quieter and more shallow as his blood loss continues, Emilie goes to grab her phone in her pocket, but a hand stops her. She looks down to see her uncle's hairy hand forcefully push her away from him. His eyes are full of fear, yet he is calm, and even smiles at his terrified niece.

'Emilie, I don't want you to see this… Go into the back room and stay there no matter what you hear. They'll be here soon, please do as I say… your mother would be proud of you, and never forget who you are.' He tries to push her again, and this time she stands shakily. An inhuman growl comes from outside the double doors, the scratches of claws on the wooden floorboards makes Emilie's heartbeat faster.

'Emilie…GO!' The command doesn't have to be said twice, she takes one last look at her crippled uncle, then races towards the backroom. The door locks behind her, tears now swimming in her eyes as the screams of her uncle shatter her eardrums. Emilie covers her ears and closes her eyes, feeling vulnerable in this gruesome situation. The growls are louder, there are many creatures in the main room now, and the sound of snapping bone is unbearable.

The time seems to slow as the growls carry on forever, the sound of flesh being ripped from a corpse also shares these growls. After an eternity, the scratches fade, not even a growl as the creatures depart from their kill. Emilie doesn't move from her crouched position behind the door, staring into nothing, shock poisoning all of her senses. Without moving her eyes, she grabs her phone, and dials the numbers 911…waiting for someone to pick up.

'Hello, what is your emergency?' The robotic voice of the woman makes Emilie shake violently.

'I'd like t-to report…My u-uncle has just been m-murdered…Oh my god.' She finally breaks down, the woman on the phone trying her best to act human, even with her robotic voice.

'Stay calm Miss; are you in a secure area?'

'Y-yes.'

'Then just wait there until the officers arrive, what is your location?'

'Atkin's Art Gallery and grand antiquities… on Elizabeth Street.'

'Officers will be there shortly.' In addition, with that, the woman puts the phone down. Emilie sits in the dark; her phone still tapped the side of her face. As the darkness consumes her, Emilie feels the large object that her now dead uncle gave her, she looks down and begins to unwrap it. The sight of a large notebook confuses her, this notebook completely full from notes and drawings. Another object is kept underneath the notebook, to Emilie's horror, it is a large dagger. The dagger's sharp steel reflects her tear streaked face; it looks as if it was only made yesterday. However, the wood reveals that the dagger is much older, strange writing is carved perfectly, the wood looks damp and old. Confusion and fear, the worst emotions on their own, but put together, and havoc can be created.

Emilie wraps the dagger and notebook up again, not wanting to look at the dangerous steel tonight, not after the terrible scene that is just a door away. So there she waits, waiting for the sirens of the police. Her thoughts somehow come to the stranger that had vanished before her, had he been a sign, a sign that her uncle was going to die. On the other hand, was it that voice, the voice in this very room?

_Emilie…Emilie…It's your…time._

She scolds herself, thinking about childish beliefs with her uncle dead in the art gallery. No longer would she believe in things that don't exist, now, she would only believe in things that she could see. This was the day that Emilie Atkins would die, well, only part of her; the part of her still alive would be the strict part of her brain. This is the story of Emilie Atkins, there is no secret romance, there is only murder and mystery. There is no successful conclusion; happy endings only happen in fairytales, this isn't a fairytale…this is reality. Like every story, this one does have another main character; however, this one will pop in and out and create havoc. This is the story of a girl, and her guardian angel… if you can call a cocky Mr know it all an angel that is. This was the beginning, well, for Emilie's point of view that is, and now, it is time for Balthazar's…

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**Hoped you liked this, already have another three chapters down so i'm going to update them every week or so. Bye for now, please review as always.**

**Answer: So many to choose from...I think Gabriel had to be my favourite. **

**(Spoiler alert) **

**the sad thing is he was only in four episodes! They need to bring him back, along with Balthazar...Just stop killing the good characters!**

**~GothGirlStrikesAgain**


	2. Hunters come calling

**So i've decided to update every thursday (if possible), this then will give me enough time to write another chapter.**

**Because this one is short, i'm going to update the next chapter as well, hopefully you'll enjoy both.**

**Question: Who would you like to see this OC with?**

**1. Balthazar**

**2. Castiel**

**3. Dean**

**4. Sam**

**or none, because this might end up not being what you expect.**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS EXCEPT MY OC'S ALL THE REST BELONG TO SUPERNATURAL OR THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS.**

**with that done, on with the chapter...**

* * *

'Sam, are you sure this is going to work?' Dean spoke a little more aggressively then needed towards his younger brother.

'It says in the book that an angel _must_ come if he is summoned like this.' Sam spoke with little enthusiasm, hoping that this would work, just to show his brother that he could do something on his own.

'Well, we already know Balthazar isn't one for following the rules.' Dean mumbles under his breath, the room is completely quiet except for the vacuum outside their motel room. They wait in silence, one, two, three minutes… and nothing. Dean results to tapping his leg as he leans in his chair; Sam paces the small bedroom, wondering why it is taking so long.

'You barstards could have picked a better timing.' The sarcastic tone makes both brothers turn their bodies to face the angel in the kitchen. He honestly does look pissed off, not something; you want to do to an angel. 'Take this as a warning…Quit calling.' He is about to vanish when Dean quickly says their problem.

'Cas has been missing for a week now.' This doesn't make much of an effect, a furrow of eyebrows and a hand gesture.

'And I should care, why?'

'Because whether you like it or not, Cas is still your brother.' The aggressive tone doesn't help the situation, so before Balthazar can zap Dean, Sam intervenes.

'All we're asking is for you to find him and bring him here, preferably in one piece.' Balthazar rubs his stubbles, pretending to consider helping.

'I would absolutely _love_ to help the angel that killed me, but I have a busy schedule, mainly with someone actually in need of my help.' The sarcastic tone is hiding the feeling of betrayal, a betrayal from a brother.

'You're not seriously still angry about that, or have you forgotten it was Cas that brought you back.' Balthazar's cyan eyes turn cold as Dean speaks again.

'How would you feel if Sam here shoved an angel blade in _your _back?' There is venom in these words, but Dean isn't fazed by it.

'Yeah, I would be pissed…But I would forgive him.' Balthazar scoffs at this, but a sense of understanding is seen in his eyes. He sighs, feeling generous for today.

'Fine, I'll find your toy angel, but once I've found him, no. more. Calls.' Both brothers agree to this, and Balthazar vanishes in front of them, they share a look, and then return to doing whatever they do when stuck in a motel room. Dean puts his earphones in and plays Metallica extremely loud, while Sam does some research on his laptop. Secretly, both hope that Balthazar will find Cas…and that he won't kill him.

* * *

'Bloody hunters, they think an angel can solve_ all _there problems.' Balthazar spits, walking along Elizabeth Street. He had been in Ohio only seconds before, now, in Portland again. Portland was a beautiful place, if you don't mind all the murders and the rich in their big houses.

Police cars and ambulances surrounded the Art gallery that he had been in only ten minutes before. The blue flashing of blinding lights, attracting nosy insects with hunger for gossip.

His curiosity pushed him forward as he forgot why he had returned in the first place. The building had been cut off by police tape and made it impossible to enter the building, a few nosy people stood behind the yellow tape, trying to get a good look to what was going on. Balthazar stood with these people, wondering if this was about the woman he had met inside the art gallery, he hoped not, she was fascinating, even for a human.

There was an officer near the tape, keeping the public back.

'Excuse me, what is going on? I'm a friend of the people that own the gallery.' The officer gives him a sceptical once over, then pulls the tape up for Balthazar to lean underneath it. He thanks him shortly, not really wanting the invitation, just wanting to know whether this was about the woman. The officer walks him closer to the gallery, then he pushes the double doors, and the scene repulses him.

A man, or what is left, is strewn in the centre of the room. Bits of flesh ravaged lie metres away from the victim; blood still liquidised seeps into the floorboards. Claw marks along the ribs and waist of the man, these claw marks he has seen a few times. Hellhounds were notorious for leaving a man with little flesh left, still, even this seems more dramatic than their usual kills. The officer walks towards a detective, speaks with him for a few seconds, then brings him over to Balthazar.

'My name his detective Burkhardt and this officer here says you were a friend of the owner?' Feeling slightly annoyed with the question, he swallows his annoyance and answers with normality.

'Kind of, I'm a friend of his daughter's, she is alright isn't she.' The detective turns to the officer before answering, his tone with a little empathy.

'She's in shock; she heard the whole thing from the back room. We don't think she was connected to the murder as she was the one who dialled 911 call and judging by her state, he was close to her. Don't take this the wrong way but, how well do you know the daughter?' The judgmental looks he is being given from the people in the room, suggest that they think _he_ was connected to this. Now he had a bigger problem, how was he going to convince these officers that he knew the daughter, if he didn't even know her name. It seems looking for Castiel would have to wait.

'We've met a few times in here; we have an understanding of art you see. Once we get talking about art…we can go on for hours.' He finishes with a chuckle to make it sound convincing, but the detective still seems sceptical.

'Really, well we've just had a statement taken from Miss Atkins…and she says you only just met tonight, in fact, you were the last person to leave. Maybe we should have a trip down to the police station?' Balthazar steps back, but soon realizes that is a bad decision as the detective reaches for some handcuffs. He raises his hands defensively as they draw closer, trying to think of something suitable to say.

'Wait, it wasn't him. Detective, I know for a fact it couldn't have been him.' The familiar voice of the woman is music to his ears, he breathes a sigh of relief as she storms towards them. Her eyes are red from the tears but other than that and the red stains on her hands, she is the same as before. She is still fascinating in his eyes, he curses in his head, knowing he should have stayed out of this. 'If you wish for me to do my statement again, that is fine by me.' The detective declines this and puts the handcuffs away, he asks both of them to leave so forensics can intervene in finding the killer.

Balthazar winks at the stern woman; still her name hasn't been mentioned. He opens his arm for her to take; she doesn't take this however and walks straight outside into the open air. The time is early morning, the night sky clear enough to see the shining stars above. She walks purposely with him walking behind; he is questioning his interest in this woman. Once they are a few roads away, she turns to face him, eyes ablaze in fury.

'If I find out you are in any way connected to my uncle's murder, consider yourself dead, do we understand each other?'

'Perfectly, but I had nothing to do with it.' She nods slowly before a few more tears leak from her eyes; he stands there slightly uncomfortable from this situation. She wipes her eyes clean and soon enough; the stern woman is back again.

'Well, I better know your name before the detectives try to interfere again.' Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she is expecting an answer. He clears his throat, knowing he can't use his true name, there would be too much to explain.

'Sam, Sam Winchester.' He extends his arm for a handshake; she becomes weary but goes to shake it anyway.

'Emilie, Emilie Atkins and this is one hell of a predicament we're in.'

'Yes, I'm sorry to hear about your uncle, I thought I would see your father here.' She scoffs, not caring about the man mentioned.

'He doesn't care about my mother's family, the only thing from this he will care about, is the blood stain in his precious art gallery.' The venom in her voice is enough to make Balthazar take extra care, not wanting a hormonal and pissed woman on his back. After her blood cools, she sighs, her emotions not easily read.

'Do you want me to escort you home, it's the least I can do?' Being a gentleman was never his strong point, but under these circumstances, it is the only way to learn more about Emilie. She smiles at the kind gesture, he opens his arm for her to take it again and this time, she doesn't decline.

They walk up the street, side by side, the streets lights above them painfully bright. The time is unknown to them, but it moves fast around them, he has questions, but so does she.

'Emilie, isn't that an English name?'

'No, it's the German spelling, my mother and her family were German.' She replies glumly as they remember the certain someone lying dead in the art gallery, he wants to change the subject. He finds he can't think of another question, so they walk in silence for the remainder of the walk, eyes accidently locked then quickly looking away again. They find themselves at the end of the street, at the end there is a lone road hidden by intimidating pine trees. Emilie looks down the road, knowing what lies at the end, her ungrateful stepmother. She lets her arm slip from his, forcing a farewell smile onto her face.

'I can walk from here, thank you for escorting me home.' She mocks with a posh accent, he chuckles, without force.

'That is what a true gentleman does, is it not?'

'You, a gentleman, and I thought you were just a cocky British know it all.' The remark makes them both laugh, but it stops when he leans forward, taking her by surprise. His sweet breath smelling like the champagne he had drunk in the art gallery, she closes her eyes at the anticipation, their lips touch for a second before he pulls back. She opens her eyes again, only to be met with his cyan ones. They both take a step back, embarrassment on both parts.

'Goodnight, Emilie Atkins, I hope to see you again sometime.' His voice sounds higher than before and she can see he is cursing at himself.

'Goodnight Sam Winchester, I hope the same…Sorry, this is getting _excessively_ cliché.' He chuckles again.

'Yes, that we agree on.' She uses that fake smile one last time before turning to walk down the road, turning her head once to see if he is still standing there, and he is. He waits until she is out of sight before cursing loudly, his weaknesses getting the better of him.

_Balthazar, what have you gotten into this time? _His mind shouted at him, and he can answer that.

_A big, bloody mess._ Yes, that was exactly what he had gotten into.

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**An internet cookie for whoever can guess what other TV show i have pulled into this, a clue is that it also has supernatural tendecies.**

**Hope you enjoyed this one and will carry on reading, bye for now.**

**~GothGirlStrikesAgain**


	3. Brother To Brother

**As promised, the third chapter, with some of the other characters inside this. Also diving deeper into Emilie's history...**

**Can't wait for season 9, especially as one of the episodes is going to be directed by Misha Collins, Jared and Jensen are going to cause him sooooo much hassel. Good luck at keeping them under control Misha!**

**Question: Out of all the creatures in Supernatural, which one would you be?**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS EXCEPT MY OC'S ALL THE REST BELONG TO SUPERNATURAL OR THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS.**

**With that done, on with the chapter.**

* * *

The embarrassment that had never befallen him before, had bitten back after the 'kiss'. He didn't really count it as a kiss, mainly because it hadn't been more than five seconds, but, it was…exciting. He didn't leave his spot once he was certain she was safe, he didn't know how he knew, he just _knew_. Balthazar began to walk away, the midnight breeze refreshing after the heated moment. Something twigged in his brain as he stood under a street lamp, a memory, something a brother had said to him in heaven.

_All angels must become a guardian of a human, it's the duty given that must be done, there will _always _be a sign._

The duty of a guardian angel, to protect and guide the hairless apes, hardly a special job but treated as a gift. Maybe this human _had_ stood out from all the rest, the so-called gut instinct, maybe that had been the sign after all. He chuckled at his own stupidity, this human didn't need guidance, what she needed was to let her hair down and have _fun_.

It was there and then, that he decided to see Emilie again, but not until he had done the job, the Winchester boys had given him. Finding Castiel wouldn't be too difficult, all it was, was finding a secluded area away from civilization. With any luck, it would only take him the rest of the night to find him, or maybe less, if he could connect with Castiel's brain wave.

He stayed under the street lamp, the orange light flickering every so often, and he concentrated. His mind stretching from city to city, looking for a jumbled mess of an angel's thoughts, he didn't think Castiel would have gotten too far. Unfortunately, he wasn't anywhere in Portland or nearby states, so he made his search farther, moving faster than the speed of sound, trying to connect with his brother. Then, a flash of something familiar, thoughts of the Winchester brothers, Heaven and a fish.

'Found you…' Balthazar sung in a singsong voice before zapping himself to his brother's destination. That's when he opened his eyes to find himself on top of a large mountain, strong winds making it hopeless to hear anything. His clothes bellowed in this wind, making his vessel cold already. The sight of towns below the great mountain was a remarkable sight, but he had more important things to do than admire the scenery.

He teleported further down the mountain, becoming enclosed in woods of large trees, spikes ready to destroy his new shoes. It was more tranquil down here and less ferocious wind to contend with, here, he could hear himself think. There was a small clearing ahead of him, where a ray of sunshine boiled the dry ground, small animals and insects scurried on this clearing, making twigs snap and other nature noises. In the centre of this clearing, a man stood still, staring up at the golden sky, a face of façade. He wore a trench coat, much like Emilie's except a beige colour.

Tensely, Balthazar stepped into the clearing, somehow missing all of the small twigs so he didn't make a single sound. The man didn't move, even once Balthazar was ten centimetres away, he did acknowledge the cyan eyes staring at him from behind, but wasn't able to speak. The pair stood there in silence, listening to the animals surrounding them. Soon enough, Balthazar became bored, and was the first to speak.

'Castiel' His voice was small, just above a whisper, the one named Castiel, became even tenser from the voice.

'Balthazar…It is, good to see you alive.' The gruff tone did reveal some truth to the statement, but still Castiel didn't turn around. Balthazar resulted to scanning the woodland area, not sure of what to do. 'This is Kansas, I remember Dean saying how him and his family used to live here, before his mother's death. It is, truly, a beautiful place.' Balthazar listens, not understanding a word his brother is saying.

'You shoved an angel blade in my back, and you think some speech about Kansas is going to make me forget that?' He says with piercing eyes. Castiel's own eyes fall to the floor then back up again, his head is lowered until it is straight again, but he still can't look his brother in the eye.

'I was the one that brought you back.' He states, but is just met with a fake laugh.

'What, so you think that fixes _everything_? The only reason I'm here is because your boyfriend wanted me to find you.' The hints make Castiel tug at his collar, which Balthazar just laughs at. 'Nearly every angel in the garrison, knows you have feelings for Dean, such a shame said ape can't see it.' Balthazar does feel sorry for Castiel in that sense, but he still can't understand what he sees in the opinionated human. Castiel finally turns to face him, his eyes skimming the floor when his nervousness becomes known. After a time, he stares confusingly at Balthazar, sensing something different in his presence, something he himself had felt when helping Dean Stop Sam from opening Lucifer's cage.

'You, are guarding a human?' It was more of a statement then a question, which Balthazar took surprisingly defensively.

'So what if I am, it's not like I'm going to be a bad influence.' If Castiel was more human, he would have scoffed at this, instead he remained, wondering how Balthazar could possibly find his human to guard. 'After all, you remember what our brothers in heaven said, 'all angels must become a guardian to a human', it's our second nature really.'

'I do remember, but what human would need _your_ services?' Balthazar puts a hand over his heart at this.

'Oh, that hurts. If you must know, a human who needs a good night out, but once that's done, I won't have to see her again.' He smiles, but Castiel just furrows his eyebrows.

'You have a female human, that's interesting, but guarding means you must guard her until you think she is ready to be independent.' Balthazar rolls his eyes at his brother's naivety.

'If it were up to me, I think she is already too independent, that's why she needs a good night out.' Castiel doesn't reply to this, merely looking at his brother ever more intensely, sensing something else that is different in his brother. This something, is less detectable but still just able to read, like a sparkling in his eyes or his slight excitement when talking about the human. Never, would he have thought Balthazar would ever feel those sorts of emotions towards a human, more or less agrees to guard said human.

'You have feelings towards her, but you try to convince yourself that you don't.' Balthazar glares at this, not wanting lectures from Castiel, especially with his record of accomplishment in romance.

'If I'm to guard her, then yes, there will be feelings, but not _those_ feelings.' He clears his throat after this, feeling the embarrassment that had captured him earlier that night. So far, this guarding business wasn't going the way he wanted, all it was, was a few shots of vodka, a night of laughs and she wouldn't remember anything in the morning, then he was done. If the Winchesters hadn't called him, then it was have been over a lot quicker and he could have gone about his business again.

'I've had to guard Dean for quiet sometime, and you've seen how far those feelings have gone. Soon, you _will_ have a friendship with her, and then that friendship will grow into something more.' He wanted to protest at this, but knew his brother was right, but he wouldn't protect Emilie for _that_ long, if he could help it.

The insects around them suddenly become silent, as if someone had put the mute button on. Sensing someone in the ferns of early spring, both angels turn their heads to a secluded area to the left of them, sharing a glance, both agree it's time to leave.

As they vanish, a lost child runs into the clearing, eyes red from constant crying and knees scraped and bloodied. The growl of a monstrous creature pushes the child along, not wanting to die at this creature's sharp teeth. A large red backpack is secured onto the child's back, this extra weight extremely heavy, yet, necessary. The creature leaps onto the child's ankle, knocking said child to the floor. He turns over just in time to see the creature about to tear him apart. The ferocious jaws of a hellhound will be the last thing he sees as they tear at his doomed flesh, his screams of help that no one can hear. The pendent around his neck is a clue to why he is being hunted, why these hellish dogs are hunting so many people. This pendent, is the head of a lion, to represent bravery of the now falling families. Edgar Matthäus and Charlie Rickman are just the beginning of this bloodshed…the war will begin again.

* * *

The pair found themselves in a darkened room, a bedroom to be exact, which took Balthazar by surprise. The turquoise walls were subtle and easy on the eyes, not too vibrant but not too bland. A single bed was occupied, the green blending with the turquoise perfectly, the rise in the green sheets revealed the person sleeping in the bed. Balthazar suddenly felt sweat dripping from his collar as Emilie Atkins breathed in her deep sleep, he found his gaze memorized by her sleeping form. Castiel sensed that this was the human; by the way, Balthazar's brainwaves consisted mostly of her, a guardian habit. He had used this to teleport both himself and Balthazar to the human, his curiosity being his weakness.

'I don't feel comfortable being here, especially if her father catches us.' Balthazar whispers, leaning to Castiel so he can hear him without getting louder. Castiel walks quietly towards the bedside table, a number of photos, some of a little girl to a moody looking teenager, but one stood out more than the others did. Castiel attentively picked this one up, staring at a young mother with a newborn baby in her arms, tiredness showing bags under her eyes. However, her hazel eyes revealed true happiness and pride at this tiny human. He outreached the photo to Balthazar, who looked at it with a questioning look.

'You're not seriously suggesting that I learn more about her…while she is asleep a few centimetres away.' His whispers are quick, as he wants to be out of the room, not wanting Emilie to wake up and see him and Castiel. He puts the photo back on the bedside table, his curiosity fed slightly, but he still wanted to learn more.

A hand grabbed the arm of his trench coat, he turned to see Balthazar staring at the bed, Castiel looked to that area, and watched as the human shifted onto her side. Carefully he stepped away from the bed, the human now settling down again. 'I think it's about time we left; your boyfriend is waiting for you in his motel room.' Balthazar whispered with a hint of his natural humour. Castiel agreed to leave, forgetting where he was leaving to, Dean and Sam.

The sound of wings filled the room as the pair vanished, just in time, as Emilie lay upright on the bed, startled by an unfamiliar sound. Feeling paranoia slither around her mind, she quickly walked over to the window and check it was locked firmly, it was. Brushing the noise off as the trick of the wind, Emilie tiptoed back into bed and as her head hit the pillow, she felt a large object push against her face.

Her hand slid under the pillow and latched onto the object, pulling it out, fear replaced paranoia as the notebook was gripped in her hand. It hadn't been a nightmare after all, the art gallery, her uncle's murder… the stranger. It had all happened. Carefully, a delicate finger pulled the cover open, she was instantly met with a paragraph of handwritten writing. The style of handwriting was similar to hers, the flicks on the g's or y's and the slight lean to the right. Emilie's eyes read this paragraph in detail, hoping it would bring some kind of explanation to the impossible murder that she had witnessed herself.

_To whoever might be reading this, _

_this being my loyal brother or a fellow hunter, my name is Ldrid Matthäus and this notebook is a guide to the supernatural beings on this Earth. If you had told me these five years ago, that I would be filling a notebook about dangerous and devilish creatures, I would call you insane, but here we are. These creatures you are about to read about, are creatures I have met and hunted, but some I have yet to find. I hope this notebook will help the younger hunters that have just begun to understand this ancient side of our world, but I wonder if any hunter as ever been able to understand it fully. The job of being a hunter is to find and kill the vengeful beings that want to bring harm to innocent people, it can be difficult to save everyone but hunters have learnt to live through the guilt. Nobody knows when or how hunters began, but we know they have protected the living since the first people began to rot. If you seek further guidance, call my brother, or if he is unavailable call one of the other hunters in the back of the notebook. They will do what they can to help you, a few of them will anyway._

_This is the first rule of being a hunter; don't underestimate what they can do and don't trust _anyone_. _

_Good Luck, and may the angels be watching over you,_

_Ldrid Matthäus _

Emilie re-read this multiple times, a confused happiness that her mother had written this, that this was her writing. Certain words jumped out at her such as, 'supernatural beings' and 'hunter' but it did explain that what Emilie had seen _was_ real. The early morning sunlight seeped through the closed curtains, trying to reach the room beyond. Forgetting the world around her, Emilie began to read each passage, looked at each detailed drawing. This had been why her uncle had brought this notebook to her, to become a hunter, like her mother had been.

_'In that cloth is all you need to continue her work, hunting is in your blood girl.'_

That's what Uncle Edgar had said, if hunting was in her blood, then she would do it, she would carry on her mother's work. Emilie knew that she couldn't just pack her things and run into the dying sunset, if only she could, but her father would never let her go. She would train, train the ways of a hunter, that strange knife being her first training. Her hand flipped to the back page of the book, she passed her uncle's phone number and looked straight at the one below it.

_John. W_

Never, had she heard of that name before, but why would she? Emilie concluded that she would call this John after she had finished her work at the art gallery. Before any of that, however, she needed to hide both the knife and the notebook, how would she ever explain it to her father if he found it? Her father, another dilemma, he knew nothing about Uncle Edgar, but he soon would as soon as he watched the Portland news broadcast.

Leaping out of bed, Emilie counted the floorboards, looking for her lucky number of thirteen, the ironic humour in her mind. As soon as she found thirteen, her nail dug into the oak wood, pulling the floorboard up and revealing a dark whole.

A stash of money and a small bottle of vodka (for emergencies) were already hidden in the hiding place. Carefully placing the book length ways inside the floorboard, she went back to the bed to grab the wrapped up knife, the woodenhead of the lion curled inside her fingers. Even more gently, she placed the knife next to the notebook. A sigh of relief and a replace of the wooden floorboard, she laid her head on the pillow again, wanting nothing more than to sleep for the rest of the day.

'Emilie, time for breakfast, you have five minutes to get down those stairs.' The screeching voice of her evil stepmother bellowed from the dungeon below. Moaning into the feathery pillow, the sheets were pulled over her head, trying to block the screeching out with a covering spell. 'Emilie Jane Atkins I will not tell you again, get yourself down here this instant!' The joys of a wealthy family, she would give anything to have a normal life; she would swap with a homeless person any day. Being a hunter would be so much easier, if her mother had lived, her father being the one that had died, it's a selfish thought and she hates it, but it's the truth. 'If the apocalypse began, you would sleep through it!' Holding back a remark, Emilie flung the sheets off of the bed and grappled her dressing gown, she decided after her fifth yawn, that tonight she would go to bed extra early…Damn that British son of a bitch.

* * *

**Answer: so many... I'm going to say Vampire just because they're badass, or an angel cause they are more badass and have awesome abilities. PLease review.**

**~GothGirlStrikesAgain**


	4. I've Got To Runaway!

**Sorry for the late update, got loads of homework and had no time to type, but here we are!**

**Thanks to KnuxGirl4Eva24 for the first review, and thank you for the vote as well! Gabriel was and always will be the best angel closly followed by Castiel and Balthazar, just his personality makes you want to love him. Also i heard that Richard Speight Jr was seen on the set so hopefully he will be in season 9.**

**Votes are still open so please vote for which character you want the Oc to be with at the end.**

**Okay for this chapter, there is a song that made me think of Emilie while i was writing this, Runaway by Pink, this song really touches me as i ahve wanted to runaway before but never did, and i'm glad i didn't. But yeah, the song is Emilie's POV so do look it up.**

**Question of the Day: If you were a demon for the day what would you do?**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS BLAH BLAH BLAH (I THINK YOU GET IT NOW).**

**With that done, on with the chapter...**

* * *

'I said I would bring him back, now, I don't want a single call.' Balthazar said to the backs of the Winchester brothers, they turned, not remotely startled at the unexpected voice. Both of them had their eyes fixed on the nervous Castiel, whose eyes were firmly locked on the dirty floor of the motel room, a habit that had come from his time with the brothers. Dean's face was a look of 'you're grounded', which was humorous to Balthazar, but before he could say anything, Dean butted in as usual.

'Weren't you going to tell us Cas, what, you thought you would just disappear without a goodbye?' The tone was a shout trying to be held back, so much so, that Balthazar imagined the glass of the mirror opposite shaking.

'I'm sorry Dean.' The gruff voice of Castiel seemed normal, though he spoke a lie unsuccessfully, which Dean could see straight through.

'No, you're playing sorry. After everything me, you and Sam went through, you were just gonna leave us without an explanation.' The tone became louder, and Sam stayed out of this confrontation, taking notes about his brother's anger. Seeing this beginning to escalate, Balthazar decided it was time to leave.

'As much as I would love to stay, I have more important things to be getting on with. Good luck Cas, I'll be sure to send you a postcard.' He vanishes, leaving his brother to defend himself against Dean's wrath. Now, he is alone, with no one on his side, Castiel feels vulnerable.

'Are you gonna answer me Cas?' Castiel hated that tone in Dean's voice. Maybe he could make it up to him by getting him pie...

* * *

Breakfast was filling, in fact, too filling; I wolfed it down so I could get out the prison. Chase was disgusted at this, her first class demeanour hating this type of messy behaviour; she scrunched her nose, but never said anything. My hair lay limply over my right shoulder, just missing my plate of bacon, eggs and toast. Every mouthful took all my will power to force the burnt food down my throat, the bacon tasting like charcoal, even the eggs tasted rotten.

I heard the familiar heavy footsteps of my father as he descended the stairs, his expensive suit the deepest black, Chase walked up to him, her high heels clicking on the hard wood flooring. She kissed him passionately, my reaction to this, was nearly choking on the toast making me cough violently. My father pulled away from her, these then making Chase give the evil eyes, and my reply was a smug smirk.

Though I won against Chase, my father still wore that disappointed look, ashamed of my immature behaviour last night. He couldn't even look at me, if I wasn't so arrogant, I would say sorry, but I know I'm right. He took the seat next to Chase at the dinner table, the oak spotless, she fiddled with his tie as he ate, making my poor breakfast wanting to come out again. I finished eating and excused my leave, I dashed upstairs and opened my wardrobe.

Black dominated the inside of the green wardrobe, most of the clothing, stuff my father doesn't know about. I grabbed a black vest top, with corset type string as the sleeves, the top coming to the top of my legs, the diagonal trim wrapping around my left knee. The vest top had a crying angel printed onto it, this angel crouching over a gravestone, the wings pure white with flakes of red blood. I pulled up some slashed black jeans, revealing some fair skin, these jeans have always been my favourite, then I dragged long sweat bands on my arms, the bands covered in small silver charms.

I satt on my bed as I grappled black boots that just passed my kneecaps, I stared into a mirror, proud of my choice of clothing, loving the rebellious look. I didn't bother with make-up, if I had I would've simply put some eyeliner on and red lipstick. My eyes couldn't seem to leave the mirror, as my brain tried to process the look, I've not rebelled against my father like this before, yes I've bought these cloths, but I've never worn it all _together_.

'This is the _real_ me.' I whispered, trying to convince myself that the statement is true, but I know it is, this _is _me. I saw a pair of scissors on the desk table, I focused on them, and my hair started to feel heavier the longer I looked at them. I shook my head, my hands covering my face; this can't get out of hand, not again.

I leave my bedroom, my eyes ignoring the scissors; I walked down the stairs slowly, waiting for the inevitable shout of disapproval. My fingers laced around the banister as I came to the end of the stairs, I'm a few feet away from the door, away from freedom.

'Emilie, you are _not_ going out like that!' Chase shouted at me from the kitchen, I heard the sound of breaking plates, I turned, and my father stared at me with a shocked expression. Both of them have their mouths open wide, seeing me in this state, is bewilderment. I took this as my chance, I took a deep breathe, speaking my mind as I have done so many times before.

'Dad, Chase, this is the real me, not some prissy pink wearing little girl…but an independent woman. You can't stop me from being who I am, I love rock bands, gothic art and clothing, I love dark and mysterious paintings not complicated and vibrant shapes. If you can't except me for being who I am, then I'll have to leave, because I'm not letting you rule my life anymore… I'm going to do what _I _want; I want to be like mom.' They are still bewildered, but my father is angry, now that mom has been mentioned.

He turned red, his hands clenched together, he strode towards me…Then agonising pain on my cheek, he had hit me, hard. I stood, shocked at his physical abuse, never seeing him so demented before. Before I know what's happening, he grabbed my arm and dragged me upstairs, his hand clenched tightly around my wrist. He shoved me into my bedroom, and then continued to lock the door; I can't fight back, shock still vivid in my mind.

'You can come out, when you've learnt to be an obedient daughter and not a fucking slut!' His voice howled through the door, he stomped back down the stairs, I heard the sound of a short-lived argument before the front door slamming shut. Trickles of tears leaked from my eyes, he has never hit me before, even when I've yelled at him. Admittedly, he flinches or gets angry whenever I mention mom, but he has never been physical. I zombie walked over to the bed and flung myself onto my pillow, the leak now a waterfall of salt-water tears.

Slow footsteps tiptoed up the stairs, I know its Chase, just by the sound of high heels. She knocked softly on the door, then another two times, she listened and heard my crying.

'Emilie, I'm not angry with you, I just want to talk to you. That was very brave, what you did, but stupid… funny how much those two things are together. I know I will never replace your mother, I wouldn't want to, I would rather us be civil friends, and maybe one day you'll see me as an older sister. My father was like that the first time I told him I was pregnant, he hit me across the face and threw me out, I had nowhere to go, I was alone in the big bad world.' She stopped, either trying to tell whether I was listening, or because she needed to breathe. 'I lost the baby, a miscarriage, and every day I think about that baby…I didn't even know what gender it was. Don't waste your life over one mistake, you are a beautiful young woman, and any man would want to love you, but wait for the one that makes your heart stop…that's when you know.' I sat up, cradling my pillow against my face, Chase stopped talking, but I took in her words.

'Is that what you do whenever you see Dad?' my voice is small and I'm not sure if she actually heard me, there is a long pause, but I wait for the answer, I want to know the truth.

'Yes, back when we first met…not so much now.' At least she is truthful; I have respect for her for that, and what she told me, about the baby.

'Why are you still with him then, why don't you love him now?' Another long pause, this conversation is hard for both of us, normally we would ignore each other, this is us opening up, wanting to finally call a truce.

'I'm with him, for you, you need a mother figure, even if I won't replace your mother, you need another woman in the house. To answer your second question, I started to feel less love for him when he kept trying to pressure you into finding a man. Now, what he just did, I have not a shred of love for him, you didn't deserve that, you're opinionated and that's the best personality a woman can have.' I smiled, the wet tears stretching my skin.

'Shall we call a truce?' I said confidently, I heard her laugh.

'Yes, I would very much like to call a truce. I'll bring some tea for you later on, we don't need Thomas on both our backs.' She left, leaving me to my thoughts, my eyes suddenly feeling heavy, the tearstains not helping. I felt my cheek, the heat still radiating with the handprint. I noticed the scissors again, biting my nails down to the stub; my mind replayed two words as I made my way to the desk.

_Fuck it_

My fingers laced around the scissors, I sat in the chair, looking straight into the mirror. He can't control me anymore, he's lost his daughter now, he was the one that lashed out, that is the last mistake. My fingers grabbed the tips of my hair, the other hand clicking the scissors; large strands begann to fall to the floor, more tears spilled from my eyes as I continued my assault on my hair.

_This is the real me, this is the real me…this is me…_

My mind repeated again and again as I cut each strand, my head feeling lighter, I left my fringe long, pulling it to the side so it covered my right eye. Every slice and snip of the scissors, I felt like a new person, I felt like I could run away. The teardrops fell onto the desk, making the dripping sound that you hear in the rain, only lighter. I finally dropped the scissors, the clatter painfully loud in my ears, I stared at the new me, my eyes seemed darker, more shark-like. My brown hair, cut so short that it doesn't cover my ears, leaving them to the harshness of the cold.

I'm glad that I didn't put make-up on, the eyeliner and lipstick being washed away by the tear waterfall. I smiled, feeling complete for the first time, I'm no longer Emilie Atkins but Emilie Matthäus, the one woman crusade…the hunter. I remembered the dagger hidden under the floorboard; I leapt for it, my fingers fumbling to get it open. Before I know it, the dagger is grasped in my hand, the lion shaped head, making me feel braver once more. The notebook soon followed the dagger into my hand, I turned to the page with the number, the number which would lead me to a John W. My mind repeated the phrase again as I searched for a back pack, finally finding it under the bed, the notebook and dagger fitted gently inside.

My next few belongings followed: spare cloths, mobile phone, small photograph of my dad and Chase with me scowling in the background. I wouldn't be able to take anymore, my bag to heavy as it is, I quickly pulled a black hoodie over my head. Then the sound of clacking heels whispered against my ears, Chase was bringing the tea up, I had to act quickly. I made a beeline for the window, my father too stupid to lock it, and I unclipped the latch, opening it outwards.

I took one final look at the door opposite, whispered a small apology and stepped onto a conveniently placed tree. The branches clawed against my legs and cloths, slowing me down, but I pursued my escape, feeling slightly guilty for betraying Chase. When I was close to the ground, I jumped, bending my legs as I felt the hard ground against my limbs, grass tickled against my face as I rolled on my side. I pushed myself up, realization to what I was doing sinking in, but I couldn't turn back, not after getting this far.

'Emilie!' Chase was at my window, looking down at me, I was about to sprint away but saw the plea on her face. I stood below the window, hoping this wasn't a trick. 'Good luck, make your mother proud, because I'm proud of you!' She shouted with a smile on her face, I smiled as well, making a small nod to show my appreciation. And then, I ran. I sprinted as fast as I could, the breeze pushing against my skin.

I didn't stop running until I reached the end of the road, the trees no longer intimidating, I smiled again, as I caught my breath.

'Sorry dad, there's no such thing as an perfect daughter.' My final words to the family I was leaving behind, but now, I have nowhere to go, I can't go to the gallery. Then it hits me, Uncle Edgar's body would be at the morgue, the detectives still trying to find the killer, but that secret will be kept between me and him.

I walked purposely towards the morgue, wanting to say a final goodbye before I leave Portland for good, I won't return, that promise I can keep. The streets are oddly crowded, it still being early morning, but many cars are already on the road. The usual screeching of car tyres and shouts of abuse is heard from every road, this place rougher than most people think. I occasionally get funny looks, but I ignore them, this is who I am, they can't change me.

I'm already loving the freedom, now realizing how much of a prison I was in, this is better, free to do what I want. A stinging pain hits my shoulder as someone barges into me, anger rises in my chest, and I quickly turn to face the culprit.

'Hey, watch where you're going.' I spoke viciously.

'A bit common talk for you Emilie.' That damn British accent, I looked up, meeting the face of Sam Winchester. I sighed, my brain straining as I remember last night, the 'kiss' mainly in my mind. I felt embarrassed, remembering how much I wanted that kiss, and how I'm facing the man again. His smirk is still plastered on his face, that hasn't changed, neither has his clothes for that matter. He looked me up and down, slightly confused at my choice of clothing, he was trying to find words, I could read that easily.

'This is…different from what you wore last night. I see your hair is shorter, did you walk into a lawnmower?' The sarcastic tone still there, but the truth is I miss that sarcastic voice, better than an angry father's voice calling me a slut. We stand in the centre of the sidewalk a little too long, people looking at us with pissed expressions, I would offer for him to come with me, but it's more personal and I'd rather not have to answer complicated questions.

'I see that sarcasm is still there, it was good meeting you again, but I've got things to do.' Before I can walk away, his hands jerks out to grab my shoulder, which I flinch to, my dad suddenly appearing in my vision. I hug my shoulder as I try to counter the action, but it didn't fool him, and I'm sure there's a red mark on my face. He lightly forgets the action, which I eternally thank him for, not wanting to tell the story, instead, he tried to break the ice.

'So, where do you plan on going looking like that?' I smirk, saying what I want.

'Why do you care, I only met you last night? I don't care what you think, this is me and this is what I want. I was going to get a drink from a bar or something, maybe even hit on some guys, so I might see you around, bye Sam.' This time I speed off, not looking back, and then I ran around the corner and up the steps of the morgue. The doors are those ones that spin around, and I find myself dizzy as I enter the building. Even the building felt melancholy, all the suffering and experiments the police perform on the corpses. I walked straight up to the desk, a woman in a white scientist type jacket looks up at me, her face disgruntled at my interruption.

'I'm here to see an Edgar Matthäus, I just want to say goodbye.' She looked me up and down, and then tried to give me a sweet smile.

'Sorry dear, if you don't have an appointment, we can't let you in. Anyway, I think they are still examining the body, come back tomorrow and we'll what we can do.' Her irritating tone pissed me off, but I kept calm, not wanting to be thrown out. I return her smile with one of my own, using a surprised tone.

'Oh, well I'll come tomorrow, goodbye.' I walked out, only showing my frustration once I reached outside, I sat on the stone steps, pulling my bag off my shoulder.

'Bitch…' I whispered, some of my frustration leaving my body.

'Strong language from a girl like you.' Sam appears next to me, almost giving me heart failure. I punch his shoulder out of anger, but regret it afterwards, I say a small sorry before returning to my original state. 'I've had worse answers; anyway, I'm pretty sure morgues don't serve drinks, unless you planned on drinking blood.' I don't find it strange that he followed me, nor do I find it strange that I just happen to meet him again today.

'I wanted to say goodbye to my Uncle, the one that was murdered last night.' I don't know why im telling him this, it's like last night, when I spoke about dad. He sighed, staring out into the street, cars whizzed past the longer we sat on the steps. Finally, he stood; a hand leaned out for me to take it.

'Come one, I think it's about time we got some proper alcohold into you.' I stare at his hand, then at his face.

'It's ten thirty in the morning.'

'So?'

'So, normal people don't drink at ten in the morning, and I'm slightly suspicious that you're trying to get me drunk.' He sighed again, aggravated about my questions.

'Yes, I am trying to get you drunk because you need it. And I'm sure you're not normal, and I know I'm not so…let's get a drink.' I continued to stare at his hand, thinking that I would regret the decision, but a phrase sat at the back of my mind, and so I stood up on my own accord. I walked with him to a nearby bar, he no longer acted like a gentleman, probably what he actually is like and it works. Now that I am my own person, I can act how I truly am, and so can he. He opened the door and didn't bother to leave it for me, he walked in, and I stood outside for a couple of seconds. Then, with a short intake of breath, I entered the bar.

'Fuck it, what's the worst that can happen?' Oh it could get worse…much worse.

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**Yep Emilie rebelled, and Chase isn't as bad as she seems...**

**Answer: Hell yeah, if i was the demon for the day i would do whatever i wanted, maybe set fire to school...sounds like a plan...**

**Thanks for the surport, hope you continue to read this, bye for now.**

**~GothGirlStrikesAgain**


	5. Meet The Boys

**I'm back again, sorry for the late update but i got caught up with my other stories as well as homewrok for school.**

**Thanks to KnuxGirl4Eva24 and Emilyrose475 for the reviews, they were amazing and really helpful when i struggled for ideas!**

**The poll for Emilie will be with is still open, Sammy, Dean, Balthy or Cas...please vote.**

**Question: If your friend suddenly started acting strange, what would you do? (When i mean strange, i mean completely out of character)**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS EXCEPT MY OCs ALL THE REST BELONG TO SUPERNATURAL OR THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS.**

**With that done, on with the chapter...**

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The bar was extremely alive, considering it still being morning, most of the men just beginning to get drunk. I followed Sam to a quieter part of the bar, away from any loud mouths or prostitutes, thankfully he hated loud mouths too…prostitutes on the other hand, I'm still unsure of.

The bar itself is styled like a 60's bar where the "greasers" would hang around. I even notice a large jukebox left abandoned in a corner, dust-covering most of its buttons and once neon colours. The desk where the bartender stood was an ordinary wooden desk with the bright lighting bouncing off it.

Before I could see more detail, Sam walked through towards a table in the corner next to the jukebox, exactly opposite the exit door. He didn't bother in pulling my chair out, and sat in one of the wooden chairs facing the desk. I sat with my back to the desk, so that I didn't see any of the happenings around the bar, only Sam and the jukebox. Sam placed an elbow on the table, his hand raised in the air slightly, his knuckles showing as he scrunched his hand into a fist. He smirked at me for no reason, or a reason I couldn't see. He continued to smirk at me until I finally decided to get the drinks, seeing, as Sam didn't seem to be moving.

'What do you want, drink wise?' I add as he raises an eyebrow, this playful side was already beginning to irritate me, strangely I preferred the more demanding side that I had seen earlier. He placed his raised hand in his lap before he spoke, thinking about the decision for a few seconds.

'Magners cider, I thought you didn't have any money?' He questioned, but I tapped my nose and headed straight for the bar. The bartender wiped the desk before acknowledging me, though he seemed sceptical that I was above the age of twenty.

A man dressed in an expensive suit sat in one of the many bar stools, he looked out of place as everyone else more likely couldn't afford the well fitted suit. His hair was a dark brown and stopped just below his neckline, his features (from what Emilie could see at the angle) was very thin, his cheekbones showing as if he was just a skeleton. She turned back to the bartender, feeling apprehensive about this man, like a gut instinct.

'Could I have a Magners cider and a…beer, please?' Emilie said, thinking that prissy drinks weren't served in a bar like this, and her new life meant new drinking habits. The bartender nodded stiffly and grabbed the two bottles from a small refrigerator below the desk, only to slam them onto the glistening wood. Emilie rummaged inside her backpack, searching, for the small amount of money she had stashed inside the bag. She slapped the money onto the desk; certain she had enough for the two drinks. The bartender grumbled his thanks and Emilie picked up the two freezing drinks, taking one last sideway glance at the well-dressed man.

When she returned to the table, Sam had his eyes firmly locked on the man that had caught Emilie's eyes. However, he stopped staring after she placed the cider next to him. He didn't even say thank you, but she didn't expect him to anyway. Therefore, they sat at the table, and Emilie sipped the alcohol gently, the new taste extra-terrestrial on her tongue. While she drank, Sam watched every sip, as if he was waiting for her to feel the effects. He finished his cider way before her, though she did catch up after downing the liquid, making her splutter slightly as it went down the wrong way.

'Your round Sam, I'm assuming you have money.' It was more of a statement rather than a question, which Sam replied to with his humour.

'Are you sure you can handle another round?'

'New look, new life, new rules…One more drink can't kill me.' Emilie said, her intentions were to have just _one _more drink, but she doubted that would happen. He rose to his feet, leaving the empty bottles on the table and waltzed over to the bar. Emilie turned in her chair, wanting to see the strange man again, and she noticed him stare at Sam, this stare one of absolute hatred. The instinct burned inside her again, and so she rose to her feet and went to join Sam. He was oblivious until she appeared at his side, her glances at the stranger even more detectable. However, the man remained his gaze at Sam, and being so close to the glare made Emilie fearful.

Sam sensed this, but reframed from acting on it, thinking it best to ignore the situation for now. Once the bartender returned with he drinks, Sam paid the money and both of them returned to the table. The man didn't watch them leave and resumed his stay on his stool.

Emilie let her eyes bore into Sam's, wondering if he was thinking the same thing, he seemed to, as he slipped something from his sleeve. Her eyes bulged as the silver blade mirrored everything within distance, including her. Sam didn't plan on using the weapon however, merely got it out just in case Emilie needed help, he knew this was her fight…and her fight alone.

The man finally stood, the squeak of the stool making Emilie cringe and turned to face him. He moved robotically, turning his, body to face their table, the bar became quiet. It was only now that Emilie noticed, that every single person in the bar was watching them…even the elderly bartender. As he moved towards them, Emilie quickly unzipped her bag, digging for the ancient dagger, thinking that this man was one of the creatures in her mother's notebook. After the man was a yard away, his eyes changed, into big black orbs that pulsed grotesquely only to return to their original colour once he blinked.

He lunged for her, but her mind screamed to dive onto the floor. She narrowly escaped, missing the man's suddenly large claw like hands, his eyes black again; instead he broke the table in half. The sound of glass shattering filled her ears, a ringing soon followed.

Sam instantly vanished, leaving Emilie alone to fight the creature; she cursed the British man. The creature again went to slash at her stomach, attempting to spill her intestines over the floor, but again, she swiftly dodged the attack and stood drunkenly. He growled in frustration, the growl not even sounding human, more like a rabid animal. She took this chance and quickly jabbed the dagger into the creature's chest, he stared at the dagger with shock before howling in agony. Black substance spilled from the wound, the squelching sound growing louder as Emilie sunk it deeper into the creature's skin. A quick twist and the creature made one final cry before keeling over on the floor.

Emilie swayed, breathless from the short fight. The other occupants in the bar stared at her hatefully, before black smoke spilled from their mouths, crawling out of the roof of the bar like carbon dioxide. The powerful wind makes Emilie's small amount of hair wave. However, she doesn't attempt to stop these creatures from leaving, the one fight draining her too much. Once the black smoke has gone completely, all the people stared around the bar confusingly, as if the past few hours had been a mystery to them.

One of them screamed at the man lying dead on the floor, the black liquid still oozing from the large wound on its chest. Emilie studied the dagger more closely, seeing that the dagger glowed gently with a yellow glow. This glow sears the black ooze, cleaning the dagger automatically. This only intrigued Emilie further. Suddenly the urge to vomit filled her stomach, her first _kill_ smelling rotten in her nostrils.

More of them scream, this seemed as a signal for Emilie to leave immediately. Therefore, she dropped the mysterious dagger into her bag and pulled it onto her shoulder, and then sprinted out of the exit door. The fresh air removed the need to vomit, making her sigh happily. Someone clapping interrupted her; she turned to see Sam leaning against the wall of the bar, his clapping slow and mocking.

'That was exceptional, a good start to your career.' Emilie goes to retort, then thinks about it for a moment.

'How do you know about hunters, how did you know I even wanted to become a hunter?' She can sense the word "damn" sketched onto his face, being detected, apparently hadn't been part of his plan. He thinks about what he's going to say, then speaks normally.

'I happen to know some hunters, it's a complicated and a long story but, I guessed by how you acted around the _Naz'gul_.' She stared at him blankly, this name meaning absolutely nothing to her. 'Naz'guls are demonic minions used by the more powerful demons, basically they're puppets who are used to kill anybody that their master wants dead.' He explained, giving her a quick lesson in demonic entities.

'Why would a _Naz'gul _be interested in you? Unless he could tell you were an asshole and wanted to do the world a favour.' Emilie said jokily, but the beginning question is genuine. He became uncomfortable, and she can tell he is hiding something from her.

He had disappeared yet again, he couldn't have simply walked away, he actually _vanished _before her eyes. Regretting putting the dagger in her bag, she glared at Sam, feeling betrayed as she thought he was against her as well. 'What type of demon or creature are you? And don't lie, I know you're not human, you said it yourself, "I'm not normal" so don't deny it.' She backed away slightly, ready to run if need be, though she would rather strike Sam dead, quickly getting over her first kill.

He raised his hands defensively, but he remained quiet for the first time it seemed. Emilie watched him like a hawk as she dropped her bag and again, searched for the dagger. Sam remained, watching her even more intently as the dagger was produced in her hand. The dagger tingled in her fingers, like an electric shock, the dagger still glowing yellow. Sam then glanced at the dagger, confused by its strange shape and glow.

'Emilie, trust when I say that if you try to kill me, it will only make it worse for you, I know it's hard to believe but I am on your side.' He spoke tentatively, the dagger seeming to be more powerful than even his own angel blade, which made him weary of the weapon. Emilie still raised it menacingly, knowing that they couldn't stay there much longer as the police would arrive about the body. Sam suddenly glanced behind her, but before she could turn around to see what he was looking at, he spoke.

'Castiel, stop.' She spun around, to see a stranger with a blade much like Sam's. His brown hair a mess, a beige trench coat with a suit that wasn't hanging neatly as it should. Emilie concentrated more on the blade that was hung above his head, ready to stab her, but he dropped it by his side at Sam's command. He then tilted his head to look at her confusingly, focusing on her facial features, squinting slightly as he concentrated.

'So, this is the human…Not what I expected Balthazar.' He spoke with a gruff voice, one that was not used by a human that she knew. Emilie remained confused, resulting to spinning a few times, pointing her dagger at both men. The name Balthazar only brought more confusion, but she guessed that the man was talking about Sam…Sam was Balthazar.

'You better explain what's going on, or, I kill both of you.' The threat was pointless, she doubted whether she could kill both before one of them could act. Incidentally, the men seemed unfazed by this obvious fake threat. Remembering that they were in the middle of a street, Emilie quickly hid the dagger in her bag, deeming neither of them was out to murder her.

She was right, as the new stranger made his angel blade vanish, but he still kept staring at her with confusion.

'It wasn't me that the Naz'gul was interested in…it was you Emilie.' Balthazar spoke loudly, answering one of her many questions, but simply replaced it with another. However, before she could ask anymore Balthazar raised his hand to shush her, and automatically she became quiet, as if being controlled. 'If you haven't noticed, we are in the middle of a street and it isn't the best place to explain the situation.' He lowered his hand, and stiffly nodded at the stranger who nodded back.

Suddenly she felt a hand grab her shoulder; the sensation of flying absorbed her body, forcing her to close her eyes. When she opened them again, everything was blurry and her stomach wanted to spill it's condense again. She breathed heavily, the sensation one that made her head spin.

'Well done, people usually vomit the first time.' She heard the stranger, Castiel she believed he was called, say somewhere beside her.

'I wonder why.' She choked through her breathing.

Eventually her vision returned, revealing she was in a motel room, the new environment puzzling her. Two beds with outrageous orange sheets were prepped up against a wall on the right, the walls covered in vibrant yellow suns. The theme of brightness followed everywhere in the room, even as far as making the small makeshift kitchen bright orange and yellow.

Two men, perhaps a little older than her, were sitting at the wooden table in the centre of the room. Sharing confused stares at Emilie, confusion being the main theme today as she also wore a confused face. The man on the right changed his expression into a playboy grin, which made her turn slightly red. The one on the left wore a puppy face as well as the plain confused expression, his hair exceptionally long.

'Well, this is awkward.' The man on the right said, the playboy grin still on his face. Awkward…was an understatement. Emilie wasn't certain what she was feeling, but some of it consisted of anger and curiosity, the anger focusing on Balthazar while the curiosity focused on the new faces around her.

'Boys, this is Emilie, a newly graduated hunter.' Balthazar spoke for her, a little boredom hinting in his voice. The "boys" sat up in their seats, fully concentrating on Emilie, a new hunter being rare nowadays. The longhaired man, smiled awkwardly at her, trying to detrude the tension as it swirled around the motel room. The boys shared uncertain glances, clearly unsure about the new member of the hunter organisation. There were a few minutes of silence, before Balthazar inevitably spoke again. 'Emilie, these are the Winchester brothers Sam and Dean.' He pointed to both of them as their names were said, and Emilie soon deduced that Balthazar had stolen Sam's name, the betrayal in her mind again.

'No offense, but I wasn't zapped here to greet other hunters, I was _kidnapped _here for answers.' Emilie growled, needing answers now to satisfy her impatient nature.

'Sorry princess, but you're not the only one wanting answers. Cas, why is there a girl in our motel room, without my permission?' Emilie watched as Sam rolled his eyes, thinking his brother wouldn't care really if he thought he could sleep with her. The backlash wasn't powerful enough to scare Emilie into silence, it just made her mind even more determined to find answers.

'Look playboy, my Uncles dead, I have nowhere to go, I've been disowned by my father and I've just killed a Naz'gul. I think I'm entitled to have _my _questions answered first, so shut it.' She spoke aggressively, the frustration of the recent events finally reaching the surface. Dean went to retort, and found his brother giving him a look, which he replied with a grumble.

Turning to Balthazar and Castiel, her eyes demanded answers immediately. Balthazar spoke first, Castiel not knowing much about the young hunter yet.

'The Naz'gul may have been interested me more at first, but that is because…'

'She does not know you are an angel yet?' Castiel butted in, earning him a sour glare from Balthazar. Emilie's head swam out of control; it wasn't just demons that she had to put up with…but _angels _as well. Emilie did believe in angels, as warriors, but these angels (she assumed Castiel was an angel as well) seemed more like a joke than actual warriors. Castiel resulted to staring at the ground, so Balthazar continued his take.

'As I was saying, it was interested in me because I'm an angel, and the Naz'gul have a pure hatred for angels. However, once it recognised you properly, it went after you, as if its master had commanded it. I didn't see why, until you took that dagger out. Back near the beginning of man, when greed, hate and war was devouring each human, God made the archangel Michael make a weapon to be used as a protector from the hate. This dagger was named Hellmuth, meaning protector and courage and God chose to give this dagger to someone pure of heart. He chose a child about the age of twelve, he asked Raziel to send the child a message. This message was for the child to speak above the hatred and greed, to use the dagger to bring peace and not death.'

'Well, that was a stupid idea.' Dean added, interrupting Balthazar once again, he threatened to stop but carried on once he saw the curiosity in Emilie's eyes.

'The child was given Hellmuth, and not long after the child made his speech, he was killed by soldiers. The dagger then vanished, not even God himself could find it…and it has been lost ever since, until now it would seem.' Balthazar finished, clearly representing that Emilie had found the dagger. The room was quiet once more, Balthazar's words hanging in the air for quite some time.

The backpack on her shoulder felt heavier the longer she stood, and then a sudden thought came into her head.

_John. W _

She thought it could be John _Winchester_; however, Emilie didn't speak about it just yet. Instead, her mind drew towards her mother and the question on how she came to have Hellmuth; it couldn't have been easy to get such a divine weapon.

'What powers does Hellmuth, said to have had?' She spoke in past tense, thinking that these powers couldn't possibly have survived such a long time.

'Nobody is quite certain, not even Michael knew its full potential. However, it is said to be able to kill any supernatural being, including Archangels.' Castiel spoke, filling in the last parts of information. Emilie nodded her head slowly, absorbing all this new information, too many strange thoughts whipping around her mind.

'Well…that was unexpected.' She said simply, no others words coming to mind.

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**Not my best chapter but i was struggling for things to happen in the bar, and the Naz'gul was my idea (which i'm proud of) as well as Hellmuth. I'll try to upload the next chapter a bit quicker next time, but no promises.**

**Answer: If my friend acted strange...i would probably do the simple thing and ask her what was wrong. (Hopefully she wouldn't bite my head off)**

**Thanks for the reviews and support! Please review.**

**~GothGirlStikesAgain**


	6. Research Reveals Secrets

**Sorry this is so short but my word document has been really buggy, so i had to keep reopening it taking twice as long. I'll make the next one longer if it will let me.**

**Thanks to guest for the review, and your vote is appreciated!**

**Question: What is the longest car journey you've ever had?**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS EXCEPT MY OCs ALL THE REST BELING TO SUPERNATURAL OR THEIR RIGHT FUL OWNERS.**

**With that done, on with the chapter...**

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Emilie was restless, insomnia poisoning her brain as the vibrant bed covers clung to her clothed body. It seemed, packing pyjamas hadn't crossed her mind, but she doubted she would be staying in a motel, planning on hitting the road as soon as possible. Again, it hadn't crossed her mind that she would be staying in a cheap motel with two hunters and two angels… being a hunter brought strange happenings in every aspect.

Said angels stood in the bright kitchen, both keeping an eye on their humans. The Winchester brothers were doing different things to pass the time, Dean was fiddling with one of the many guns the two hunters possessed on the bed opposite Emilie, and making sure each one was loaded. Sam was sat at the wooden table, using his laptop to research any hunts that was in the area, secretly, he also searched for more information about Hellmuth, and Emilie's ancestors. The name Matthäus sounding very familiar, though he couldn't quite place where he had heard it, but he was certain it had come up in his research before the job got complicated, before all these angels and archangels.

He turned his gaze to the restless guest, finally she breathed slowly as she slept, lying on her side. A female hunter was hard to come by, especially after Jo, which Dean still wouldn't talk about. Though, Dean rarely talked about anything other than the next hunt or when they were going to get a takeaway, it did worry Sam, but he respected his older brother.

The angels still stood in the kitchen; however, Balthazar had finally taken his gaze off Emilie, her sleeping form easing his mind. Castiel kept one eye on his brother, sensing he was in fact taking guarding seriously, even if he denied it. Dean stood, lumbering over to his little brother and leaned above his shoulder. Castiel watched as Dean squinted at the luminous screen, Sam not even flinching at his brother's unexpected appearance behind him.

'Well, did you get anything?' Dean asked, now watching the screen ever more intently. A few clicks as Sam typed into the search engine he was using, and old documents written in German appeared on the screen.

'I didn't find anything for a hunt, but I did find some information on the Matthäus'.' He whispered, not wishing for Emilie to see them spying on her family. 'They began an organisation to stop Adolf Hitler during world war two, one of the few families which didn't agree with him going into power. However, they worked alone, refusing to let the English help them to stop Hitler. Not much was recorded after the war ended, some moved to America while others staying in Germany to help rebuild the economy. Either way, the Matthäus' helped bring the end of the war, or without them, Hitler would have won.' He finished, his eyes skimming over the words as he interpreted them in a way that his brother could understand them. Dean nodded his head, only half listening to what Sam was saying.

'I suppose that's where her short temper came from, anything else before world war two?' Dean asks which Sam replies with more typing.

'Uh, not a lot, the war against Hitler was their only famous event. Wait…they were associated with Wilhelm and Jacob Grimm, the writers of the Grimm's fairytales. They were said to tell the two brothers some of the folklore as well as the mythical creatures that they created as many of the villainous characters, one of these being the big bad wolf. If they were hunters, then some of the characters could be based on truth. Maybe they wanted the recruit more hunters, but wanted to do it gently, a child's imagination perfect for remembering the creatures.' Sam sighed, doubting that Emilie knew any of this perhaps critical information. Dean did become more engrossed in his brother's talking, after the creatures were mentioned.

'That would explain why the Naz'gul went after her, our wars being chaotic, demons being fans of chaos. If Emilie's ancestors helped stop the chaos, then they would of course have a grudge on her family. It still doesn't explain why so many hellhound victims are being found…it's as if they are being controlled to be more ferocious with their kills, like the Naz'gul is controlled by their demon master.' Sam continued, already on the lookout for more hellhound victims, ever since the first _murder _had taken place in Michigan, extremely close to Ohio.

The supposed murders had taken place in many states, first in Nebraska and then towards Iowa, slowly drawing it's way to Ohio. A murder had yet to be taken place in Ohio, but they would happen soon. Emilie had briefly explained the situation in Portland, Oregon awfully far, the murders mostly taking place in the middle and east part of America. Now that new information had come to light, Edgar Matthäus would have been the main target, being part of the Matthäus family.

'This is all very fascinating, but I rather doubt Emilie will be pleased that you are, snooping in on her family's affairs.' Balthazar interrupted the two hunters, somehow being sat at the table without them noticing. Castiel stood next to him, but he couldn't hide that he was curious about the human, his brother's interest in her seeming to grow the longer he was with her.

'What do you suggest feathers, it's not like we can ask her why her Uncle was killed by a hellhound is it?' Dean retorted, his patience thin after Emilie's introduction, her strong spirit sending him aback.

'Feathers? Your IQ has dropped radically Dean, a thing I thought impossible.' Balthazar replied; feeling smug as Dean was held back by Sam's grip on his shoulder. 'Such violence, I thought you apes would know by now that violence doesn't solve anything.' He chuckled, but was interrupted by Emilie who awoken from her short slumber.

'Rich coming from an angel, after all, angels are God's warriors.' She said, taking the hunters' side in this confrontation, also to argue with the cocky angel. 'Did you find anything else Sam?' At this, Sam typed in a few more times before leaning back in his chair, the wood creaking slightly.

'The brothers were buried in St. _Matthäus_ Kirchhof Cemetery in schöneberg Berlin. So far, it seems your family is a big part in German history…maybe there is more to them then we first realized.' Sam said, adding even more information, but also bringing more questions on Emilie's part. She thanked the angels for bringing her to the hunters, especially after she knew more about her secretive family, as well as her secretive mother.

'Do you think my ancestors during world war two; have anything to do with this?' Emilie asked, Sam replied by finally closing his laptop, its usefulness at an end. He faced Emilie and Dean, thinking words to fit his conclusion.

'To tell you the truth, I think it has everything to do with your family. We found out that many of them moved to America after the war, maybe it was to escape the vengeful demons, hence bringing them over here to now slaughter anyone connected with the Matthäus'. The Matthäus' were a large family back in the 1930's, bigger than most families anyway, so there is a good chance that all of the victims are in some way related to the Matthäus', and you.' Sam explained his theory in much detail, confusing Dean but Emilie remained aware and focused on every word. All of this new information, only made her want to know more, eager to know why here family were _now_ being slaughter.

Dean, once bored, stumbled back to his weapons and checked them again, only this time he wore earphones. Sam remained indifferent, not judging Emilie because of her family's past, but it did beg the question whether she would become a danger, once the Naz'gul found her. He smiled awkwardly at her, she replied with straight lips, wanting to be taken seriously as a hunter, not a child.

At that moment, Castiel appeared next to her, handing over an almost perfect ham sandwich. He let it hang on the end of his fingers, before Emilie took it gingerly, her hunger finally taking over the need for information.

'Thanks Castiel, but you didn't have to make it.' She replied politely, manners still burning in her brain after her father seared it in. He nodded his head shortly, leaning forward slightly as he spoke.

'No need to show your appreciation, Balthazar has finally learned that human emotions are ones to cherish.' The whole room became silent, the cars outside and the drunken passers-by being the only sound. The click of one of Dean's guns being loaded breaks the silence, but Emilie can tell that Balthazar is very close to murdering his oblivious brother.

'Cas, you have absolutely no idea how gay you sound.' Dean shouts from his position on the edge of the bed, not even looking up from the gun in his hands. Nobody finds it amusing, but Castiel squints his eyes in confusion, the meaning unknown to him. Emilie saves him the humiliation and changes the subject, while sitting down next to Sam to eat the sandwich.

'So, now what do we do?' She says, before taking a large bite out of the delicious sandwich, the ham perfectly tender. Balthazar watches her, making Emilie slightly creeped out but she blames it as an 'angel thing'.

'Well, I think the best thing is to get you home. If you have a number we can keep in touch, keeping you informed on the Naz'gul and hellhound killings.' Emilie choked on a piece of ham, her raspy coughing catching all the boys off guard, only Balthazar didn't panic. Once her coughing fit was over, she tried to explain the situation with her father, finding her wording difficult.

'Didn't I mention that…me and my dad had a disagreement?' She asked quietly, all of them shook their heads; Dean raised his head to look at her.

'Everyone has a disagreement with their dads, the mount of times dad and Sammy were out each other's throats.' He whistled for emphasis. Sam just slowly turns his head to him, a raised eyebrow aimed at his brother. Dean raised his hands defensively, a look of surprise on his face. 'What, it's true.' Sam sighs, not even going to argue, probably because he agrees with it. Instead he turned back to Emilie, who continued to eat the heavenly sandwich, no pun intended.

'You've got to go home sooner or later, maybe he'll understand if you just tell him.' Dean scoffed, making hand gestures at Sam.

'Great advice, because telling someone that you want to hunt the supernatural for a living is the best solution.' He said sarcastically, but Sam chose to ignore him. Unfortunately, Balthazar surprisingly backs up Dean's point, knowing Emilie's father.

'He's right for once, her father's one of the most stuck up ape I've met, no offence.' He targeted towards Emilie, she simply lifted her head with a mouthful of food, and she swallowed, and then replied with a croaky voice.

'None taken. Sam, he would ground me for life if I ever went back, he already said he doesn't want… he's disowned me.' She said quietly, the words like poison on her tongue, the taste rotten. 'I ran away, I want to be a hunter and the only way I'm going to become a hunter is if you teach me. Being here now, this is the furthest I ever thought I would be from Portland, and I love every minute. Before my uncle died…he said hunting was in my blood, I want to prove him right.'

Sam sighed again, knowing that the stubbornness was adamant; she was ready for the difficult task of being a hunter. Leaning forward, Sam looked her straight in the eye, speaking to her like a child learning maths.

'Hunting…it's not easy to learn, let alone to teach, me and Dean have trained since we were kids. We're always on the road, looking for new hunts wherever we can find them, true, we haven't been able to do it how we used to, but we do try. If we teach you, there's no going back, demons and the Naz'gul will always be after you.' He left it open for her decision, but he could see the gleam in her eyes.

'I'm prepared; I'll do anything I need to become a hunter.' She was indeed adamant, and Sam respected her eagerness.

'In that case, the first thing we need to do is get out of this motel, and get on the road.' At this, Dean stood and packed all of the guns he had taken out, a huge rucksack appearing out of nowhere, this being the bag where he placed the dangerous weapons. As Sam and Dean prepared for their departure, Emilie turned to Balthazar, wondering if the angel would be sticking around.

'As much as I would love to accompany you on your road trip, I have other things to be getting on with. I trust Castiel to keep an eye on you, maybe even keep you alive, unlike the apes.' He said straight away, as if he could read her thoughts. Castiel loomed over him menacingly, words beginning to spill onto his tongue.

'Balthazar, a guardian must stay with their human, it is one of the oldest rules made by God.' He spoke slowly, watching the crease of confusion on Emilie's face. 'Balthazar is your guardian, as I am to Dean, and we _must _stick to the rules given.' Emilie went pale, he had lied to her _again_, and it made her feel sick that she was beginning to _like _him as a friend.

'Fine, but if I find out you lied to me again. I will personally shove an angel blade up your ass, understood?' Her words were full of venom, lying one of the few things she couldn't tolerate, even if she lied herself.

'Understood.' He said simply, nodding his head shortly. Emilie picked up the now empty dish and strode over to the sink, washing the dish thoroughly before grabbing her backpack off the edge of the bed. She pulled it over her shoulder, waiting for the brothers as they left to check out of the motel. She swayed with her arms folded; finding her eyes wouldn't go near the two angels at the oak table.

It was silence until the boys returned, both with solemn faces as they ushered all of them out to their car. Emilie assumed they had a car, being as hunters mostly drive to every state. She was going to ask, but decided against it as Dean looked like the sort of person that would go on about cars all day if he wanted to, so instead she followed the brothers outside into the dark night, the wind a gentle breeze that bellowed into her jacket.

'There's my baby…I have one rule' Dean began.

'Which is one of hundred.' Sam interrupted as he opened the boot to haul the guns into the back. Once he had shut the boot with a loud thud, Dean resumed his sentence.

'As I was saying, one rule: driver chooses the music, everyone else shuts his or her pie holes.' Emilie nodded, trying not to smirk at Dean's serious face. It was a fair rule, but it depended on Dean's type of music, which could be completely different to her own. The angels were the first to enter the vehicle, leaving Emilie to sit on the right side, squished against the door. She doubted that the car was used to the large weight, but roared as Dean started the engine. Luckily, it was Castiel who sat in the middle, so Emilie had no reason to speak to the liar; however, Castiel wasn't much better.

Dean immediately drove off the car park, the slight vibration comforting rather than irritating. Eventually the silence became too much, so Dean turned the radio on. It blared with the song my heart will go on by Celine Dion…it was turned off as quickly as it had come on. Sam smirked to himself, while Dean and Balthazar looked as if they were going to murder someone. Castiel seemed to enjoy it, a tight smile on his face until the music was turned off shortly.

'If it wasn't for fate sticking her nose in, that Celine Dion would never have sung that disastrous garbage.' Balthazar spat, his darker side coming out as he told his hatred for the actress, which made Emilie smile as she stared out of the window. The acres of green fields and gigantic trees were a remarkable sight, even in the dark at high speeds. The stars shone brightly down onto the earth, Emilie remembered watching the stars as a child, wondering if there was more to life than human beings. She had been such a curious child, the childness fading after her mother died, it being so sudden.

'Where exactly are we going Dean?' Balthazar asked in a bored tone, as he considered zapping himself somewhere was a more productive way of transport.

'Michigan, it's where the first hellhound killings was found.' Sam replied for Dean as he concentrated on driving.

'How long will that take?' Emilie asked, diving into the conversation.

'A couple of days, maybe less with Dean's driving.' He added, the car then speeding up as Dean challenged his brother. Everything through the window became a blur, making Emilie bring her eyes back inside the car, meeting Balthazar's briefly as he watched her…It was going to be a_ long_ drive.

* * *

**Diving even deeper into Emilie's family. I don't wish to offend anyone with what i've written, my own opinions don't match the characters'. **

**Answer: Longest car journey i've ever had was three hours long, it wouldn't have been that bad but it was boiling hot and i was about six...i was very bored. Plus we were stuck in traffic the whole time! not good.**

**Thanks for giving this story a chance, hopefully the chapter didn't bore ya, please review.**

**~GothGirlStrikesAgain**


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